


do me no good

by Anonymous



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Blowjobs, Elevator Sex, Hero Worship, Light D/s, M/M, Peter is seventeen, Possessive!Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has Issues, Underage Relationship(s), handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 04:42:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12951525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Tony’s pretty sure he’s going to hell.





	do me no good

**Author's Note:**

> _it's not like I'm falling in love, i just want you to do me no good_   
>  _and you look like you could_
> 
> — arctic monkeys, no.1 party anthem

Tony Stark is so, so screwed.

It’s bad enough, he thinks, bad enough to bring a fucking kid into this mess, bad enough to train him and groom him into a superhero as though it couldn’t potentially take his life, as if it isn’t dangerous. Bad enough to be encouraging Peter Parker’s Spider-Man habit without adding _this_ into the mix. These… these _feelings_ he’s having that need to stop.

He tries to ignore them. Does a pretty decent job of it at first, too, considering that he sees Peter practically every day. And at least the feelings are a recent development, and not something he’s been dealing with for a while—Tony is _sure_ he wasn’t thinking about the kid like this when he was, say, fifteen.

The thing is, though, the kid is… well, not really a _kid_ anymore. Peter’s seventeen, will be turning eighteen in a matter of days, actually, and in his senior year of high school. Tony’s guilty of Googling the age of consent in New York (not his finest moment), and lo and behold, Peter’s already legal. Not to mention, he’s smart as hell, awkward but witty, and far more gorgeous than any teenage boy has the right to be. And Tony hasn’t missed the way Peter looks at him.

God, the _looks_ Peter gives him. Dark eyes wide with adoration, pale cheeks flushing at the slightest bit of attention or praise from Tony, even after all this time. Even though he should know better than to idolize him, now that he knows at least part of the real Tony Stark. The boy clearly still wants him, despite, well, _everything_ that says he shouldn’t.

And Tony wants Peter. God help him, he _wants_. He craves Peter’s attention just as much as Peter does his, shudders every time their shoulders brush, feels heat burn low in his stomach whenever Peter’s warm skin comes into contact with his. Tony forces himself to push it down, though, to pretend he doesn’t have these selfish, disgusting, wrong desires.

Still, Tony can’t help but show off a little for Peter, preening under the kid’s admiration. He builds things just to impress Peter, takes him out for rides in his fancy cars, does his best to be a good role model even if he does a reckless thing or two sometimes—and, well, if that makes Peter even more in awe of him, Tony isn’t complaining.

Hero worship. It would be so easy to write off Peter’s adoration as reverence, plain and simple.

It’s too bad that Tony has always had a thing for being worshipped.

Each day that passes sees Tony’s already frayed self-control wearing down. Dark hunger claws at him, whispering, _just do it, just take him already, push him against the wall and devour him. He wouldn’t stop you. He’d look at you with those pretty brown eyes and he’d never say no._

But he doesn’t. He _can’t_.

He pretends nothing is wrong. Scratch decent, he does a damn good job. He acts like he doesn’t notice Peter’s lingering glances and subtle flirtations even as he revels in them, pushes the kid on with training and building and creating until Tony burns himself out. Burned out on working them both to the bone, hellbent on tiring himself enough that on the rare occasions he does succumb to sleep, it’ll be black and dreamless instead of filled with Peter. He’s made the mistake of dreaming about Peter before; he remembers bits and pieces, only enough to taunt him.

(The feeling of of Tony’s broad, worn hands on Peter’s narrow hips, the taste of salt and a sweetness that he knows is from Peter’s mouth, the scent of musk and sweat in the air, the sight of Peter’s pale throat as he tips his head back in ecstasy to let Tony mouth along his jaw, the sound of Peter’s keening moans, gasping his name, “Mr. Stark, _Mr. Stark_ , God—”)

Tony makes the executive decision, as if he can control it, not to dream about Peter anymore.

But even if he doesn’t dream, he can’t stop the thoughts from surfacing during his waking hours. And try as he might, he can’t stop the images from flashing through his brain at the most inconvenient times, glimpses of sensory memory of an event that never occurred. Like when Tony settles his hand on Peter’s back, right between his shoulder blades and he’s acutely aware of how big own his hand is, warm and heavy through the fabric of Peter’s hoodie and T-shirt, how small the boy feels under his grip. Like when Peter bites his lip in concentration and Tony’s blindsided with a dizzying flare of need, wishing it were _his_ teeth tugging at Peter’s swollen lip.

Like when his hand wraps around his cock and he imagines it’s Peter’s mouth instead.

At the time of this particular indiscretion—not the first time, but certainly not the last—Tony’s back is against the bathroom door, head tilted back against the thick wood, lips caught between his teeth and eyelids fluttering. He’s barely gotten himself out of his slacks, and he’s already rock-hard, like a goddamn teenager.

Teenager. Jesus. Peter is a _teenager_. He’s still in high school, for fuck’s sake. Tony is old enough to be his father.

And yet, here he is, getting himself off in the bathroom not twenty feet away from the kid. All because Peter had looked at him with those fucking beautiful, dark eyes and begged, “ _Please_ , Mr. Stark?”

An innocent question, but one that has a devastating effect on Tony, sending him stammering out of the room to take care of his little _problem._  Peter’s voice echoes in his brain, playing on repeat. Tony imagines Peter saying it again, voice breaking on a whine this time, flushed and pretty for him, _Please, Mr. Stark…_

He grits his teeth, stifles a moan, and the world goes white.

Peter’s eighteenth birthday is coming up in a few days, and Tony is on edge, twitchy and jumpy every time he sees him. Sometimes, he thinks Peter knows exactly what he’s doing to Tony, knows exactly how his presence affects him. The boy’s been more touchy than usual lately, crouching down beside Tony so their shoulders are pressed together, leaning across him so his cheek and jaw are inches from Tony’s face, gaze focusing on Tony’s lips when he speaks for longer than what’s considered appropriate. Tony knows he’s been flirting with Peter more than he should, too, complimenting him, speaking close to Peter’s ear in that low voice that always makes Peter shiver in the most delicious way, letting his hands linger on Peter’s body whenever possible.

It’s only a matter of time until Tony breaks, and he knows it. The tension between them is tangible, so thick he can practically taste it, and when Peter flirts with him in that sweet, innocent way, it takes all of his willpower not to drag Peter close to him, to press their bodies together and kiss him until every bit of that innocence is ruined.

Tony’s pretty sure he’s going to hell.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Stark!”

With a quiet sigh, Tony lifts his head from where it’s been buried in his hands. It’s been a day or two since the… bathroom incident, and he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it. He feels a surge of guilt as he watches Peter enter the room with all his usual hurried energy, backpack slung over his shoulders. He’s wearing a flannel that’s a little too big for him, and the sleeves are pulled over his palms, fingers curled around the edges. His hair curls slightly around the back of his neck, damp with sweat, the soft brown waves falling into his bright eyes. An eager smile spreads across his face as he catches his breath at the sight of Tony.

“Peter,” he says brusquely as he stands up, sliding the thick black frames of his glasses onto his face. “Good, you’re here. And—” he checks his watch— “six minutes early?”

The kid blushes. Huh. Frowning, Tony takes stock of him again—yep, he’s definitely been running. His shirt collar is tugged to the side slightly, his pale collarbone exposed. Tony feels another little lurch of attraction, of shame, feeling flattered and dirty all at once. Fuck, Peter’s beautiful.

Tony feels his lungs constrict as a stifling wave of mingled guilt and lust pools in his gut. Peter shouldn’t be that excited to see him. If he knew what Tony’s thinking about, what he’s imagining, what he’s _wishing_ for…

He wants to say that he hopes Peter would run. Run from Tony and his dark thoughts, his wandering fantasies, his hands that he just can’t keep to himself. But he doesn’t. And, truth be told, he doesn’t think he would run. In fact, he’s almost positive Peter would do the exact opposite, and it’s a thought that makes Tony positively _ache_.

Of course, he doesn’t let any of that show on his face.

“Huh,” he says aloud, peering up at Peter’s face again, which is definitely redder than it had been. The feeling, that dirty, shameful desire, intensifies.

Peter’s mouth opens, then closes. He looks embarrassed and hopeful and young, and Tony winces.

“Well,” Tony says and claps his hands together, breaking the momentary silence. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”

“Y-yeah! Sure.” Peter scrambles into motion, catching up to Tony as the older man heads for the elevator, pushing both hands into the pockets of his suit pants so he won’t give in to the temptation to touch Peter. He’s forced to rethink this decision mere seconds later, though, when they reach the elevator and he has to withdraw his hand to press the “down” button.

The silence is awkward, more so than usual. Peter keeps sneaking glances at Tony, and Tony pretends he doesn’t notice, which is a common game between them. He isn’t sure what Peter’s goal is, here, but he knows his own. _Don’t let him know you see him, and don’t do anything stupid._

Tony has never lost this game before, but each time, it feels less and less like a victory.

Peter starts to babble in the way he does when he’s uncomfortable and doesn’t know what to do but fill the silence, gesturing with his hands as he tells some story about his friends. Tony wishes he were listening better as they step into the elevator; he usually does listen to everything Peter has to say, but he’s just too damn distracted.

Distracted by the way Peter’s eyes light up with joy when he talks about his friends. Distracted by the way he moves his hands, long fingers waving around, inelegantly adorable. Distracted, more than anything else, by the way Peter shifts closer to him, inching nearer until their arms are brushing against each other. Tony feels too hot, his skin stretched taut over his bones, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.

The sound of Peter’s voice trails off, and the boy’s eyes follow the movement of Tony’s tongue. Whether he’s finished with the story or not is a complete mystery, but he’s obviously caught Tony staring, and he seems almost disbelievingly intrigued. As if he doesn’t trust his own eyes, as if Tony’s not eyeing him with blatant hunger at this point.

Then, Peter glances up and meets Tony’s gaze, and his voice has the barest hint of a tremor as he says hesitantly, “What’s wrong, sir?”

And Tony snaps.

Tony turns and grabs Peter’s shoulders firmly, shoving him back into the wall of the elevator. Then Tony slams his hands against the wall on either side of Peter’s head, the metal rattling. They aren’t touching, not since Tony let go of Peter’s shoulders, but their bodies are close enough that Tony can feel the heat radiating off of Peter, can feel his breath ghost across his lips.

Peter’s startled, eyes blowing wide and mouth falling open just a little. “M-M-Mr. Stark, what—what are you—” he stammers, his voice rising in pitch but not volume, just barely above a whisper.

“God,” Tony sighs, leaning in closer. His stomach churns with that same feeling once again, but arousal and want and need are quickly winning out over the guilt. “Kid, I…”

“Mr. Stark?” Peter breathes. His gaze flickers down to Tony’s lips, eyes going half-lidded, and really, how is Tony supposed to resist?

He closes the gap between them, kissing Peter harshly. It’s messy and rough, Peter’s mouth hot and soft against his, and Tony bites none too gently at Peter’s bottom lip. When Peter gasps, Tony licks into his mouth, drawing a quiet moan from the back of Peter’s throat. Peter’s clearly inexperienced, but makes up for it with eagerness, his hands gripping the lapels of Tony’s blazer and pulling him in closer as his slick tongue pushes against Tony’s.

And then, just as quickly as it started, the kiss ends. Tony jerks back, chest heaving, and they stare at each other. Peter is breathless too, pupils blown out until his eyes are almost black, lips parted and chin a little red from Tony’s beard. It’s simultaneously terrible and the single hottest thing Tony’s ever seen in his life.

“Fuck,” Tony rasps, stomach churning. He grabs Peter’s wrists, intending to pull his hands away from the front of his jacket, but he ends up just holding on. He needs to let go, to take a step back and get out of Peter’s space. “Fuck, kid, I shouldn’t have done that.” He can’t bring himself to apologize, because he’s _not_ sorry, but he _really_ should not have done that. “Peter, we—”

“Shut _up_ ,” Peter says, shocking Tony into silence. He’s blushing, glaring up at the older man, and that shouldn’t be hot but it _is_ , almost painfully so. “Just shut up.”

So Tony does. He shuts himself up the only way he knows how: by finding a better use for his mouth.

He kisses Peter again, harder than before, dragging his hands away from his jacket only to pin his wrists to the cold metal wall of the elevator. Tony shoves his thigh between Peter’s legs, his knee bracing on the wall behind him, and Peter whimpers, straining against Tony’s grip—not enough to break free, but almost as though he’s testing the strength of Tony’s hold on him. Like he enjoys it.

Tony dips down to kiss Peter’s chin, his jaw, trailing rough kisses down his neck. Peter inhales sharply, shuddering, and grinds down just a little on Tony’s thigh.

“FRIDAY?” Tony says, voice rough, as he kisses the spot just under the sharp curve of Peter’s jaw and feels him tremble. “Disable the security cameras in this wing, will you? And… delete the footage from the last five minutes.”

“ _Yes, sir._ ” The AI’s voice echoes from the ceiling, and Tony goes back to sucking at Peter’s neck, scraping lips and teeth and tongue along the column of his throat. He sucks a bruise into the skin just above his collarbone, and Peter’s voice cracks over a moan, his hips jerking again.

“Mr. Stark, oh god, please,” Peter begs, breathy and hoarse. He’s hard against Tony’s thigh, Tony can feel it through Peter’s jeans and his own slacks. He’s dizzy with need, and his lips move of their own accord.

“Please what?” he demands, lifting his head to meet Peter’s gaze. “What do you want, Peter? Tell me.”

Peter’s eyes are hazy, and he struggles to catch his breath, wordless. He’s clearly overwhelmed, but Tony is not a patient man. He rolls his hips hard against Peter’s, and the the answering noise he gets is almost a sob.

“You want my hands?” Tony lets go of Peter’s wrists and trails his palms down his chest, fingertips tracing his body through his clothes, until he grabs Peter’s hips and pushes them back against the wall. “My mouth?” He captures Peter’s lips in a short, filthy kiss, sucking on his tongue hard enough to draw another moan from the teenager. “You want _this_?” Pointedly, he grinds his hips against Peter again. “Come on, baby. Answer me.”

By the time Tony’s finished talking, Peter is a wreck, shaking and flushed. “I-I want… I want you—to—” He stops and bites his lip, looking up at Tony through his lashes.

Then he sinks to his knees, and Tony’s mind goes blank.

“ _Peter_ ,” he says, embarrassed at how desperate he sounds. “You—you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” says Peter, taking a deep breath. Slowly, he palms the bulge in Tony’s pants, and Tony’s breath hitches. His fingers curl around the back of Peter’s neck instinctively, fingers threading through his hair.

Nimble fingers fumble with Tony’s belt buckle, undoing it surprisingly quickly and sliding it free from the loops. Peter lets the belt drop to the floor with a clatter, his hands immediately returning to the front of Tony’s slacks and tugging at the zipper. He slides Tony’s pants down to his knees, then leans forward to mouth at the bulge in Tony’s briefs.

It takes all of Tony’s willpower to keep his hips still, to keep his hand on the back of Peter’s neck light. “Hey,” he murmurs, and Peter pauses, glancing up. “Have you ever done this before?”

Peter blushes darker. “Well, no,” he admits weakly. “Is it that obvious?”

Tony feels his cock twitch. “Jesus,” he says on an exhale. “That’s sexy.”

“ _Oh_ —” Peter looks fucking elated, and it’s adorable, but underneath it Tony can still sense a layer of uncertainty. There’s no denying that Peter is nervous, and Tony frowns.

“Look, Peter.” Tony cups Peter’s chin with his free hand, lightly pressing his thumb against the boy’s bottom lip and enjoying the way he melts into the touch, eyelids fluttering. “If you want to stop, just tell me. I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

“Then don’t make me stop,” Peter says boldly against Tony’s hand. He parts his lips and takes Tony’s thumb into his mouth, tongue curling around the rough, calloused pad of it, and Tony jolts with unexpected arousal. He presses his thumb further into Peter’s mouth, testing him, and watches with fascination as Peter closes his eyes and sucks obediently at the intruding finger.

 _Jesus fucking Christ_ , Tony thinks, grip tightening on Peter’s hair. Peter tenses a little, and Tony’s briefly worried that he’s hurting him, but then Peter’s releasing the thumb from his mouth and hooking a finger in the elastic waistband of Tony’s underwear, and Tony gets sidetracked by the feeling of cool air hitting his aching cock. He groans as Peter wraps his hand around him, stroking firm and slow with trembling, warm fingers, that lovely flush spreading to his ears and creeping down his neck.

And then—God, then Peter leans forward and softly kisses the tip of Tony’s cock, and all semblance of coherent thought is out the window.

Tony was right, Peter _is_ reverent. There’s no other way to describe it. He’s a quick learner and so damn eager to please, taking the head of Tony’s dick into his mouth and bobbing his head in a way that has Tony’s breath sticking in his throat. Peter looks utterly fucking _sinful_ on his knees in front of Tony, pink lips wrapped around Tony’s length and eyes darkened, somehow innocent and decidedly _not_ at the same time. It fucks Tony up to think that he’s the only one who’s ever seen Peter like this, the only one who _gets_ to see Peter like this. His gut twists with possessive jealousy at the thought of Peter doing this for someone else, and unthinkingly he winds his fingers tighter into Peter’s hair. “ _Shit_ , baby,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so good.”

A little moan comes from Peter’s throat, causing vibrations around Tony’s cock that make his hips twitch forward involuntarily. Peter pulls his mouth off him with an obscene wet noise and looks up at him, lips shiny. “Pull my hair again,” he breathes, voice shaky. When Tony blinks at him, Peter adds, “P-please, Mr. Stark, I—I liked it.” He’s a vibrant shade of scarlet, shy and turned on and so goddamn beautiful.

Experimentally, Tony gives Peter’s brown curls a little tug. The effect it has on Peter is visceral and immediate—he tips his head back, a crease forming between his brows, and lets out a low whine. A scorching flush of desire burns its way through Tony’s body, and he pulls harder, practically yanking Peter’s head back and exposing his throat. The sounds Peter makes in response are _intoxicating_. He’ll have to remember this for later.

Peter swallows hard. “Mr. Stark,” he whimpers, eyes flickering down to Tony’s cock. “I… I want to—” He leans forward.

Letting go of Peter’s hair only to run his fingers gently through it, Tony hums. “You want this again, huh?” he teases, the hint of a growl edging his voice.

Nodding frantically, Peter bites his lip.

Tony clicks his tongue disapprovingly, shaking his head. “You have to ask nicely, Peter,” he says.

For a moment, Tony thinks he’s gone too far—all but asking Peter to beg, _really_?—but Peter takes a shuddering breath, shifts his weight back and forth, and says, “ _Please_ , sir, please let me suck you off, I—I promise I’ll be good, Mr. Stark, I’ll be good for you,” and _fuck_ , that’s even hotter than Tony had dreamed it’d be.

He nods jerkily, and when Peter gets his mouth on him again he _moans,_ not even trying to keep quiet. The boy keeps his hand in a tight circle around the base of Tony’s cock, and that combined with the slick heat of his mouth is almost too much. Tony whimpers at the feeling of Peter’s tongue flattening against the underside of his cock. And when Peter struggles to swallow around him, he nearly comes right there. He fists one hand in Peter’s hair, runs the other through his own hair, and warns, “Peter—fuck, baby, _fuck_ , I’m close.”

Peter only breathes deep through his nose and takes him further into his mouth, eyes darting back up to Tony’s. His eyelashes are long and damp, and his eyes glisten, watering a little. And that’s what does it; Tony comes harder than he probably has in years, vision whiting out with pulsing, melting pleasure for several long, blissful seconds.

He’s trembling when he finally comes down from his high, fingers sparking and stardust in his blood. At his feet, Peter’s taken his mouth off Tony’s cock; he has a vaguely disgusted look on his face, probably from the bitter taste of Tony’s cum. Tony feels bad about this for all of a few seconds before Peter licks his lips and peers up at Tony through his eyelashes. “Did I do good, Mr. Stark?” he asks, voice hoarse, throat sounding fucked out.

And Jesus, Peter really doesn’t even know how fucking sexy he is. Tony at least has the presence of mind to tug up his briefs and slacks, now a bit wrinkled, before sinking to the elevator floor beside the kid. “So good,” he says, ribcage feeling tight, “god, Peter, you were fucking incredible.”

Biting his lip, Peter flushes, shifting off his knees and sitting down with his back against the wall. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Tony scoots closer and kisses Peter thoroughly, tangling a hand in his hair again. The other hand slides down, across Peter’s hip, and he palms his erection through his jeans. Peter jerks and moans into Tony’s open mouth.

“Mr. Stark, holy shit, _please_ —”

Tony pulls back from the kiss, still slowly rubbing Peter’s hard-on. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart,” he says, and it’s far too affectionate but Peter looks at him and nods, eyes wide and trusting.

Really, how can Tony deny the kid anything, when he looks at him like that?

He unzips Peter’s jeans, draws out his leaking cock, wraps a spit-slick hand around the base and trails kisses along his collarbone. He strokes him slow and steady at first, his other hand keeping Peter’s hips pinned firmly down so he can’t fuck up into Tony’s grip. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, baby,” he whispers. “You’re doing so good.”

Peter gasps and shakes, his fingers seeking purchase on Tony’s shoulders, his shirt, his _tie_ , Jesus Christ. Tony marks him with teeth and lips, nudging the collar of his shirt aside to bite bruises into Peter’s pale skin that he knows will fade quicker than he wants them to. Seeing Peter’s skin red and purple with hickies that _Tony_ put there is a ridiculously erotic sight, and he feels like he could get hard again from that alone.

It comes as a little bit of a surprise that Peter is so quiet. Oh, he makes plenty of noise, little whimpers and moans, sounds that will be burned into Tony’s mind forever. But he isn’t _loud_ , almost as though he’s afraid to be; and of course he is, he’s a teenager, he’s used to having to be quiet. He doesn’t speak much, either, aside from the occasional “ _fuck_ ” or “ _god_ ” or (his personal favorite) “ _Mr. Stark_ ” mixed in with his wordless sounds. It feels like the best sort of praise, and Tony revels in it.

Tony twists his wrist sharply on the upstroke, gradually speeding up, and Peter’s mouth falls open. “Mr. Stark, I’m gonna come, sir, please let me,” he babbles, voice breaking, and Tony lifts his hand off Peter’s hip to grip the boy’s chin and turn his face toward him. He wants to see, wants to memorize every detail of what Peter looks like at the peak of pleasure.

“Come for me,” he says, and watches as Peter comes undone.

He brings Peter down slowly, with gentle touches that leave him quivering and oversensitive. He buries his face in Tony’s shoulder, panting, and Tony rubs his back, murmuring, “That’s it, that’s it, sweetheart, god, you did so good, baby, so good for me, good boy…”

Eventually, Peter calms down and lifts his head. His cheeks are pink, and he avoids Tony’s gaze. “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” he mumbles.

Tony’s stricken. “Jeez, kid, don’t _thank_ me,” he says, stomach sinking. He pulls a tissue out of his pocket and wipes off his hand, then offers it to Peter. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter echoes, and lets Tony help him up. He tucks himself back into his boxers and zips up his jeans quickly, wrapping his arms around himself and looking self-conscious when he finishes.

The elevator has been stopped for a while, but FRIDAY must have left the doors closed, something Tony is eternally thankful for even though the lab is empty. He leads Peter out, wanting to hold his hand, but he worries that the gesture will come off as paternal, so he keeps his hands to himself.

That is, until Peter falls into step at his side and tentatively laces his fingers with Tony’s. When Tony glances down at him in surprise, Peter offers him a smile, bright as a star.

Tony’s definitely going to hell, but what a lovely way to go.

**Author's Note:**

> follow my starker sideblog on tumblr ~~because i'm trash and i don't want to link this to my main blog~~
> 
> [tonyyystarker.tumblr.com](http://tonyyystarker.tumblr.com)


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